


The Hurricane Passions of Opera

by Cinaed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Opera, Canon Era, F/F, Femslash, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette and Éponine, on <i>Euryanthe</i>'s opening night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hurricane Passions of Opera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smokefall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokefall/gifts).



> Happy fandom stocking, smokefall! I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thanks go out to melannen for helping me with resources about ballet and operas, in particular Albert Richard Smith's [The natural history of the ballet-girl](https://openlibrary.org/books/OL23444220M/The_natural_history_of_the_ballet-girl), and her and pliny's suggestion to use the opera _Euryanthe_. 
> 
> The title comes from a Mason Cooley quotation.

Cosette has hopes that the walk to the opera house will quell her nerves, but although the afternoon air does settle her stomach somewhat, the fall chill mostly begins to numb her fingers and toes. It is early enough that the fruit-sellers have not yet set up in front of the house, and the boys and bill-vendors are nowhere to be seen. She slips in through the stage door and smiles at the hall-keeper, who raises his eyebrows at her pink cheeks but says nothing.

She glances in a cheerfully uninterested way at the letters on the rack for her, as well as the bouquets left by admirers. Strange to think that she had been an unknown chorus girl a year ago, until Cornélie had to unexpectedly withdraw from _Robert le diable_ and Cosette had stepped into the role of Alice.

"There are more bouquets, Mademoiselle--" begins the hall-keeper as always, but pauses when Cosette laughs and says, as is tradition, "Just the letter and bouquet from my father, if you please. The other bouquets can be shared among everyone." 

Her father's bouquet is enormous; the poor hall-keeper actually staggers at the weight of it, and Cosette represses a giggle. She gathers the bouquet up in her arms, takes a moment to breathe in the sweet scents, and then she dashes to the dressing room where she knows Éponine is waiting. 

"Where have you been?" Éponine demands as soon as Cosette steps inside. She is frowning, her expression pinched. "You--"

"I am not late," Cosette says, placing her father's bouquet on the table and then opening up his letter. She reads it, smiling. She should have known that her father's tender words of encouragement and pride would calm her in a way the cold night air would not. The butterflies in her stomach settle and vanish completely as she reads his missive a second time.  

"No, you are not, or else half of the ballet would be looking for you. But you are usually here a full hour before we are expected, practicing your lines. Why you would not do so the opening night...." Éponine's voice trails off, and she sighs. "You are not listening to me." 

Cosette places her father's letter on the table and looks up to find Éponine wearing her grudgingly affectionate look, her eyes dark with a mixture of concern and confusion. There is no one else in the room; it is a rare moment of privacy. Cosette takes the opportunity to glide across the room and embrace Éponine. Éponine is warm in her arms, and her breath against Cosette's cheek drives the last of the fall afternoon's chill away.

"I am nervous," she admits into Éponine's ear, and makes a moue of mock-hurt when Éponine only laughs a low, rough laugh. "I am! I keep thinking it is not possible that in a few hours I will be Euryanthe."

"And I will be Eglantine and there by your side. Even if you forget your lines, which you won't, I will be there to whisper them to you." Here Éponine pauses, and a wry smile flashes across her face. "At least until I betray you and die horribly." 

Cosette laughs and pulls back enough that she and Éponine are face to face. "You die beautifully," she says, and kisses Éponine's nose when the other girl wrinkles it at the compliment. "Also, Father has invited us to dine with him after the performance. Please say you'll come. If you refuse a third time, Father's feelings will be hurt." 

Éponine's smile twists, a too-familiar bitterness darkening her eyes. She tenses in Cosette's arms, though she does not draw away. "He asked just because he knows we are friends. He doesn't actually want me there. You have been so busy with rehearsals, I am certain he would prefer to have you to himself..."

"Nonsense," Cosette says firmly, though she suspects Éponine is right in that he would enjoy having her undivided attention. "He included you by name. He wants to see you." 

Éponine looks doubtful at this, but she begins to relax, the tension slowly leaving her body. She does not turn her face away when Cosette presses a kiss to her cheek, one corner of her mouth turning reluctantly upwards. "We should get ready," she says, but makes no move to disentangle herself from their embrace. 

"We should," Cosette agrees. She kisses Éponine again, this time pressing unvoiced promises into the curve of Éponine's neck and her jaw until Éponine sighs and captures her mouth in a kiss.

After a long, breathless moment of pleasure, Cosette reluctantly steps away. She admires the fetching flush upon Éponine's cheeks, how lovely she looks when she is happy and trying not to show it. If it is strange to be about to perform as Euryanthe, Cosette thinks, it is even stranger to contemplate how far she and Éponine have come since they were both ugly, half-starved little chorus girls with quick feet and the uncertain potential of good singing voices, Cosette escaping the restrictions of the convent and Éponine escaping her father.

She catches Éponine's hand in hers, feels it flutter like a startled bird in her grip. So she is not the only one who is nervous, she thinks, and smiles tenderly. "Wherefore tremble?" she sings, pitching her voice low, and earns a startled laugh. "Dry thine eyes: trust in friendship, thou'lt not rue."

Éponine glances to the door, as though to assure herself that they are still alone, and then she sings back, "Friend! beloved! come--to my arms!" She sings the lines in a way that innocent Euryanthe never would, with a suggestive air that makes Cosette's cheeks warm. 

"Tonight," Cosette promises, softly, no longer singing, and cherishes the small, unfeigned smile upon Éponine's face. She has halfway convinced Éponine to accompany her to her dinner with her father, she hopes. She imagines the rest of the evening, performing as Euryanthe and then having the people she loves dearest beside her to celebrate a successful opening night. And then after dinner she and Éponine will return to their room and embrace as though they were Euryanthe and Adolar....

 _It is perfect, this life,_ she thinks. Her heart feels so light that when she dances tonight, she suspects she will float across the stage. She brushes another kiss to Éponine's hand and then releases her, stepping to her washstand and singing, joyfully, "Take thou my soul, for it is thine! Breathe thou my life, no longer mine!"

Éponine's voice, low and warm, joins her in the rest of the duet even as the opera house begins to fill with the familiar sounds of opening night: the clamoring voices of excited dancers and singers, and the fainter notes of the orchestra as the musicians practice and tune their instruments.

"Wholly I'm thine! Wholly I'm thine! Passions burns in every sigh. Vows of love ascend on high. In perfect joy on thy breast I'd die!"

**Author's Note:**

> The Cornélie Cosette refers to is actually a real person! 
> 
> [Cornélie Falcon](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corn%C3%A9lie_Falcon) was an opera singer who had a short but successful career until she lost her voice during a performance when she was 23. Her first major role, at the age of eighteen, was Alice in Meyerbeer's _Robert le diable_ \-- apparently both Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas were in the audience and impressed by her. She only performed as Alice five times before she had to stop due to illness, so I thought it would be perfect to have Cosette step into her shoes.


End file.
